Night Myst by Yasmine Galenorn Page A

worrying. She never believed me.”
    “What?” I gave her a long look. “The Society said what to you?”
    “Marta refused to sanction any further training for me because my hands were sullied with blood, and since Heather is a member of the Society, she had to obey.”
    I snorted. “ Fuck them, then. Where were they when you needed help? Fuck them and their rules. Marta’s dead and Heather needs you. She’s out there, the Indigo Court has her, and we don’t know what the hell they’re doing to her. And since the Society wouldn’t do its job, then we’ll help you.”
    Leo kissed the top of Rhiannon’s head and gently guided her to her feet. She was shaky, but he braced her elbow.
    I shook my head. “The Thirteen Moons Society is almost defunct. We can’t rely on anybody but ourselves. We’re in this by our lonesome. Ask Kaylin if he’s interested in joining us. If you trust him, go for it. And Leo—can you please give Geoffrey a call now that the sun’s down?”
    “I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but I’ll set up a meeting.” The look on his face told me he thought I was crazy.
    “You do that.” Weary—the day had seemed long beyond words—I sighed and pushed to my feet. “Meanwhile, I need to unpack.”
    “We’ll make dinner while you’re doing that. Then we’ll figure out how to ward the house.”
    As I headed upstairs, I whispered to Ulean, Back me up, friend. I think we’re all in trouble.
    Always and forever came the reply.

Chapter 7
    Once in my room, I pulled out my wallet and counted how much cash I had left. Checking accounts had never been a part of my life. Five hundred and twenty-three dollars. Add to that the four thousand in Marta’s business checking and I still needed a job before long.
    The wallet had been Krystal’s. I’d always suspected she’d lifted it off some john. Why I kept it, I didn’t know, but it was one of the few links I had to my mother. It had contained a single photo when I found it on her bruised and bloodied body. I slid the photo out of the wallet and flipped it over.
    A crinkled picture of my mother and Heather, arms around each other. Krystal and Heather had been twenty years old, according to the date written on the back. They looked so young, and Heather was smiling, the wind blowing her hair in her face. Krystal was also smiling, but there was something in her gaze—a fear that had never left her.
    “You just couldn’t get it right, could you? You always fucked up.” I hadn’t cried when I found her dead, and two years later, I still couldn’t cry. There was just a void—a hole filled with dark smoke.
    I glanced at the picture again, then sighed. The past was gone. There was nothing I could do to change it now, and in truth, despite the problems of my childhood, I liked myself. And if I’d had it easier, who knows who I would have turned out to be?
    After a moment, I propped the photo against the lamp on the desk and carefully laid out a soft black cloth, rolled and tied with a ribbon. Thanks to my nomadic childhood, I’d kept my magical tools to a minimum, too, making each item multitask.
    I untied the ribbon and spread out the cloth to reveal a stiletto athame—my ritual dagger. Double-bladed, the silver hilt was engraved with an owl motif, the blade highly polished. Next to it, wrapped in tissue paper to keep it safe, was an owl feather. The very possession of the feather could land me a hefty fine and/or time in jail since it was protected by wildlife laws, so I kept it out of sight. As I touched it, it hummed.
    Whoa. The feather had never done that before.
    I waited, but it didn’t do anything else and, after a moment I shrugged and laid it down, then set out the few other assorted tools I had: a smudge stick, a quartz crystal that I’d attuned to myself, a ritual fan . . . that was the extent of my magical goody bag.
    But with what I inherited from Marta, my stash of magical tools and components would drastically increase.